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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27881866">The Pipe Dream Wish</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/germankitty/pseuds/germankitty'>germankitty</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCIS</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Don't copy to another site, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentions of Cancer, No TIVA, Pre-Slash, Sorry Not Sorry, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, no Delilah</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:21:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,041</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27881866</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/germankitty/pseuds/germankitty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim is babysitting a friend's two small children; during the course of the evening, he is persuaded to write a letter to Santa</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anthony DiNozzo/Timothy McGee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Pipe Dream Wish</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the NCIS Happy Holiday Challenge 2020: Day 4: Fanfic and art<br/>Prompt: fireplace/chimney/stocking/yule log</p><p>My very first NCIS fic! *wibbles*<br/>Hopefully, I've done the character justice. Unbetaed, alas, as none of my usual <s>suspects</s> helpmates is familiar with the fandom. Tooth-rotting fluff (so consider yourselves warned, please?) with just a hint of possible future McNozzo; I'd apologize, but this is where my Idiot!Muse™ sent me. Blame him!  Also, Feedback is always appreciated.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>Norfolk, Virginia<br/>
December 6, 2014<br/>
</i>
</p><p>"Have you written your letter to Santa yet, Uncle Tim?"<br/>
</p><p>Tim McGee smiled at the earnest little girl as he stacked dinner plates into the dishwasher. "No, I haven't, Mia."<br/>
</p><p>"Why not? It's only nineteen days until Christmas," she said, looking at him with big, brown eyes.<br/>
</p><p>He shrugged a bit awkwardly; he really hadn't expected to discuss something like this with his friend Mark's seven-year-old daughter. "Well, I'm a grown-up. Grown-ups don't usually write letters to Santa, you know." Except for someone like Abby, maybe, but she was a special case. <i>Also, calling her 'grown-up' might be stretching things a bit sometimes, </i>he couldn't help thinking.<br/>
</p><p>She tilted her head even as she handed him the cutlery. "Mommy and Daddy do."<br/>
</p><p>"Really?" He quickly wiped the table to remove a few splatters of tomato sauce. He had enjoyed sharing the meal with his friend's kids; Nora Caparelli was a fantastic cook, but spaghetti and meatballs wasn't exactly the tidiest dish to eat with two youngsters.<br/>
</p><p>"Uh-huh. Every year." Mia skipped to the fridge and took out two small juice cartons for herself and her brother, then wandered off towards the cozy living room, plopping herself into a beanbag chair next to the fireplace, gazing pensively at the striped stockings pinned to the mantel right below the lush, decorated garland draped on top.<br/>
</p><p>"Wow. That's just … wow." To say that Tim was astonished would be putting it mildly. Mark Caparelli was a cyber specialist working out of Norfolk, where they'd met years ago, shortly after they'd both started at NCIS. They'd remained friendly even after Tim had transferred to the MCRT, and the family had gladly adopted Jethro into their home when it proved impossible for Tim to keep the big German Shepherd at his cramped one-bedroom apartment. Mark was a dedicated family man, very down-to-earth, sensible and not given to sentimentality; while he loved his children, he hardly seemed the type to indulge them in flights of fancy like this.<br/>
</p><p>Then again, the avid hard-rock fan was taking his wife to a Donny and Marie Osmond Christmas concert at the National Theatre. Neither Mark nor Nora had family living nearby, they'd gotten the tickets at the last minute and their regular sitter was unavailable – which is why Tim was baby- and dog-sitting tonight.<br/>
</p><p>He didn't mind; Mia and Sandy were bright, well-behaved children, and he knew Abby would appreciate an update on Jethro. Still …<br/>
</p><p>Tim sat down in a low chair, right next to a stack of already-wrapped parcels and wrapped his hands around the tall glass of <i>caffe macchiato </i>he'd fixed himself with the press of a button on the Caparellis' fancy coffeemaker. He usually preferred his coffee black, but Tony had introduced him to the beverage and Tim had learned to enjoy it on occasion – especially in the evenings, when too much caffeine would keep him up most of the night.<br/>
</p><p>"Mommy says ever'one has a dreampipe," five-year-old Sandy confided as he came over, Jethro in tow and slurping on his straw. Tim had to grin; the kids had put a Santa hat on the dog's head before dinner, and he looked ridiculously adorable for such a big animal. He ruffled Jethro's neck and was rewarded with a low whuff before the dog lay down at his feet.<br/>
</p><p>"What's a … a dreampipe?" Tim wondered, stumbling a little over the unusual word; he wasn't sure whether he'd simply misheard the little boy, whether it was a weird toy he'd never heard of, or—<br/>
</p><p>"Not dreampipe, Sandy," Mia said with a big-sisterly eyeroll. "It's <i>pipe dream</i>. Mommy says everyone has a pipe dream wish that only Santa can make happen. And that’s why even grown-ups can write letters to him. And if it's an extra-special thing for a good person, or enough people wish for the same thing, Santa will do his magic and make it happen."<br/>
</p><p>"That's a great idea," Tim said slowly. "But how do you know if it works?"<br/>
</p><p>"Sometimes it doesn't – not right away, anyways. See, last year we all wished for Mommy to get healthy again," Mia said simply. "And in spring, Santa made the doctors come up with the right medicine, and now Mommy's so much better and if we continue to wish for it, she'll be all well again. Daddy says it'll be when I go to middle school."<br/>
</p><p>Before Tim could comment on that, Sandy piped up. "It's kinda weird to cuddle with Mommy now."<br/>
</p><p>"Oh? Why's that?" Tim took another sip of his coffee, enjoying the smooth blend of warm, milky foam and pleasantly bitter roast.<br/>
</p><p>"'Cause she only has one boobie now," the boy said earnestly, making Tim choke and nearly spew coffee all over the kids and Jethro. "It looks gross."<br/>
</p><p>"She'll get a new one when you're ten, stoopid," Mia told her brother with all the superiority of her two-year age advantage. "When she's all better again."<br/>
</p><p>Tim coughed and fished for a handkerchief to wipe his mouth. Five years from now … Nora was a breast cancer survivor in remission; five years without a resurgence, and she could reasonably assume to be cured and qualify for reconstructive surgery. The kids couldn't really understand all the ramifications of their mother's diagnosis, treatment and recovery; he supposed explaining it as 'Santa magic' made as much sense as anything, given their young ages.<br/>
</p><p>"I'll be big then," Sandy protested. "Big boys don't cuddle!"<br/>
</p><p>Mia was obviously gearing up to argue, so Tim stepped in. "Actually, some do," he said placatingly. "In some very special cases, like when your mom's health is back for good. Just think, you can make up for all the cuddles then that are too uncomfortable for both you and your mom now."<br/>
</p><p>"But what if my friends see me and laugh?"<br/>
</p><p>"If they do, they won't be really good friends," Tim said earnestly. "Because if they were, they'd understand that having your mom really well and healthy is worth a little embarrassment." He smiled and winked. "Besides, who said you have to do it where they can see you?"<br/>
</p><p>"Yeah; you can cuddle with Mommy when we watch TV, or something," Mia agreed. "Me and Daddy won't laugh."<br/>
</p><p>Sandy pursed his mouth and visibly thought it through before he nodded. "Oh, okay." He finished his juice with a loud slurp and sidled closer to Tim. "Can you help me write my wish, Uncle Tim?"<br/>
</p><p>"Sure, I can do that," Tim agreed readily. "Put your juice box into the trash and get a pen and some paper, why don't you?"<br/>
</p><p>"Yeah!" Sandy dashed off into the kitchen; there was a loud 'clank' from the trash can lid, then a drawer was opened and slammed shut. Within a few moments, he thrust a yellow legal pad and a red gel pen topped with a tiny snowman at Tim. "Here!"<br/>
</p><p>"I'll do mine, too," Mia declared, moving towards the stairs. "You can tell Uncle Tim your wish while I get my special paper and good pen."<br/>
</p><p>"'Kay," Clutching his writing implements, Sandy unceremoniously climbed into Tim's lap. "Promise not to tell Mia? Special wishes are 'posed to be seekrit," he said importantly.<br/>
</p><p>Biting back a smile, Tim nodded at the little boy. "I understand," he said gravely and accepted the pen, holding it poised over the lined paper. Upstairs, a door opened, then closed mere moments later. "But you better hurry; I think Mia will be back in less than a minute."<br/>
</p><p>Sandy squirmed a little, then fixed Tim with big, brown puppy eyes. "C'n I whisper it?"<br/>
</p><p>"Sure." Tim obligingly tilted his head towards the boy.<br/>
</p><p>Mia came back with a colorful Santa letterhead sheet and a green glitter gel pen and flopped onto her belly, back towards them. "Don't peek!"<br/>
</p><p>"We won't," Tim assured her, then turned back towards her brother. "Okay, you ready?"<br/>
</p><p>"Uh huh." So soft that Tim nearly didn't catch all, Sandy whispered his wish in Tim's ear.</p>
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</div><p>To say that Tim was surprised would be putting it mildly. For a five-year-old, it was a very mature wish – and while it wasn't exactly unachievable for an adult, after a lot of time and effort, to such a young child it must surely seem near impossible.<br/>
</p><p>"That's a very good pipe dream wish, Sandy," he complimented him. "I'll be honored to write it down for you."<br/>
</p><p>Using his best copperplate, Tim carefully wrote out Sandy's wish, taking care to place it in the center of the page. It looked nice and neat, if he said so himself. "This okay?"<br/>
</p><p>"Yeah," Sandy said, then sighed. "I wish I had fancy paper like Mia," he murmured a bit wistfully. "Mommy says I can have some when I learn to write, but …"<br/>
</p><p>Mia looked over her shoulder. "I have another sheet," she offered generously. "I can get it for you when I'm finished."<br/>
</p><p>Tim was astonished when Sandy shook his head. "No."<br/>
</p><p>"Why not?" Tim asked. "That's a good idea, and I won't mind writing it again."<br/>
</p><p>The little boy was obviously tempted, but shook his head again. "If my wish is on Mia's paper, how will Santa know it's really from me?"<br/>
</p><p>"You sign it, dummy," Mia said scornfully. "I write 'please and thank you, from Mia' under my wish, and you write the same, just with Sandy instead of my name."<br/>
</p><p>"But what if Santa doesn't read my name right? Or mixes them up?" He gave a small sniffle, and to Tim's horror one big, fat tear rolled down a chubby cheek. </p><p>Hurriedly, he tried to soothe the clearly tired child with a hug.<br/>
</p><p>"Santa is way too smart to mix up names, Sandy – doesn't he always bring the right stuff, the normal stuff, I mean, to you – and Mia, and your friends, and everybody?"<br/>
</p><p>"Yeah, but—" Another sniffle. "Santa is really busy," he said with a distinct catch in his voice. "I just want Santa to <i>know</i> it's from me. Even if it's just my dreampipe wish!"<br/>
</p><p>"I told you, you made a very, very good wish, Sandy," Tim said. "And if you don't want to use Mia's stationery, that's perfectly okay. Even though it was very nice of Mia to offer. Thank you, Mia," he added for good measure.<br/>
</p><p>Pleased, Mia smiled and turned back to her writing. "You're welcome, Uncle Tim."<br/>
</p><p>Tim raised an eyebrow at the boy on his lap. Sandy glowered and pushed out his lower lip. Tim nudged him gently and gave a tiny jerk of his head towards Mia. Thus reminded of his manners, Sandy heaved a put-upon sigh, knuckled his eyes and muttered something that might have been his own version of thanks. Tim mouthed "good boy" at him, patted his back and looked over what he'd written, wishing he knew how to help – and suddenly had a Eureka moment. "Sandy? Do you have another pen? In a different color, maybe?"<br/>
</p><p>Mutely, Sandy shook his head. "Jus' crayons."<br/>
</p><p>"Well, we could use tho—"<br/>
</p><p>"They don' look nice," Sandy murmured sadly, running a finger over what Tim had written.<br/>
</p><p>Momentarily at a loss, Tim looked over at Mia and saw that she had finished writing and was carefully folding up her sheet to fit in a matching envelope. A slow grin curved his mouth. <i>Perfect!</i><br/>
</p><p>"Well … what about your sister's pen? That does look nicer than crayons, doesn't it?"<br/>
</p><p>"Um, yeah?"<br/>
</p><p>Tim smiled and ruffled the child's curls. "That's what I thought, too."<br/>
</p><p>"I got it from Addison," Mia declared proudly. "She's my bestest friend!"<br/>
</p><p>"Ah, so it's extra special," Tim nodded. "Okay, Sandy …why don't you ask her if she'll lend it to us for a few minutes?" When the girl looked somewhat skeptical, he hastened to add, "only because it's for your pipe dream wish. That's extra special, too, right, Mia?"<br/>
</p><p>"I guess … what do you want it for?" She clutched the pen tightly against her chest.<br/>
</p><p>Tim shrugged. "Well, I thought I could draw something on Sandy's letter. Just to make it a little more special, like yours is because of your pretty sheets." He smiled at the boy. "Would you like that, Sandy?"<br/>
</p><p>Wide-eyed, he nodded. "Is it gonna look fancy, too?"<br/>
</p><p>"I think so; I'll definitely do my best."<br/>
</p><p>After a long look, Sandy huffed a little and said, "Okay."<br/>
</p><p>Tim turned back to Mia. "May I please use your pen, Mia?"<br/>
</p><p>She gave him a hard stare. "You're gonna use it? Not Sandy?"<br/>
</p><p>"Just me," he confirmed. "Maybe he can draw a little something, or – can you write your name yet, Sandy?"<br/>
</p><p>"Uh-huh."<br/>
</p><p>"Great. Then if you don't mind, Mia, Sandy can sign his name to his pipe dream wish with your pen. I'll make sure he's careful, promise."<br/>
</p><p>The seven-year-old chewed her lip, clearly torn between guarding her pen and wanting to do the right – or maybe just the nice – thing.<br/>
</p><p>Suddenly Sandy slid off Tim's lap, went to his sister, and looked up at her with a pleading expression. Even from the side and a few feet away, Tim could see that the puppy eyes were back. Sandy grabbed her hand. "Pretty please, Mia?"<br/>
</p><p>Not even a big sister was immune to a triple attack like that. Still, normal sibling relationships had to be maintained. So Mia huffed and rolled her eyes when she handed her pen over to Tim with visible reluctance. "Okay. But I want it back soon!"<br/>
</p><p>"I'll only need a few minutes," Tim replied solemnly. "Thank you."<br/>
</p><p>"Hmph." She went back to her beanbag and started petting Jethro, adjusting the Santa had that somehow still perched on the dog's head. But Tim could see the tiny smile quirking Mia's lips.<br/>
</p><p>Hiding his own grin because she reminded him very much of Sarah at that age, he drew Sandy back against his side and uncapped the pen. "Okay, let's see what we can do."</p>
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</div><p>Tim would be the first to admit that he was no artist, unless he had access to some sophisticated graphics software, but years of sketching crime scenes and some actually fairly interesting coaching on picture composition by Tony – naturally with movie references galore – had given him decent, if basic skills. With a few strokes, Tim drew a border of spruce twigs across the top of the sheet, adding a bow and a few baubles with Sandy's red pen. Next, he drew a lit candle into the bottom left corner.<br/>
</p><p>"Well? What do you think?"<br/>
</p><p>Sandy cocked his head. "It's empty there." He pointed at the right-bottom corner. "It's wonky."<br/>
</p><p>Tim chuckled. "Don't worry, we'll get to that. First you have to sign your wish, though." He handed the glitter pen to the little boy, carefully adjusting his grip before pointing to a spot. "Okay, start here. Don't press too hard, remember, and try to stay between these two lines."<br/>
</p><p>With his tongue peeking out between his lips, Sandy carefully spelled his name in capital block letters. "Like this?"<br/>
</p><p>"Exactly like this, Sandy. Well done," Tim praised. The letters wobbled a bit and were uneven, but perfectly legible … and really not bad for a five-year-old who had entered kindergarten only three months ago. Sandy beamed at him, and Tim laughed softly. "Right. Now, what should we draw down here?"<br/>
</p><p>"Dunno …"<br/>
</p><p>Tim absently fingered the red gel pen with its snowman topper as he searched for inspiration, and then nearly head-slapped himself for almost missing the obvious. "Hmm. How about a snowman, like on your pen – and you can help me with it?"<br/>
</p><p>"Yeah!" There was a happy little bounce. "How?"<br/>
</p><p>Tim gave him a conspiratorial grin. "We'll need Mia's help for that, too, though." He addressed the girl, who'd listened curiously. "Mia, I left my jacket at the wardrobe. There's some change in the left pocket – can you please look whether there's a quarter, a nickel and a dime?"<br/>
</p><p>"Sure, Uncle Tim!" She scrambled up from her beanbag and scampered off to the hallway. A minute or so later, she poked her head through the doorway. "Uncle Tim, you have no dimes!"<br/>
</p><p>"Really? Huh." Tim tried to visualize the different coins, mentally comparing sizes. "Do I have a fifty-cent piece, a quarter and a penny?"<br/>
</p><p>"I think so." The curly head disappeared again and there was the faint, metallic 'clink' of coins being handled. Then Mia ran back, the three coins clutched in her fist. "Here!"<br/>
</p><p>"Great. Now watch, Sandy." Tim placed the biggest coin in the corner at the bottom of the sheet and picked up the pen. "Sandy, I want you to put a finger on the 50¢, like so" he demonstrated, "and make sure it doesn't move, okay?" He quickly drew the outline of the coin, then repeated the process with the quarter and penny, one on top of the other, ending up with three perfect graduated circles stacked on top of each other. "And that's how you draw a snowman," he grinned, pocketing his change.

</p><p>"Now – is it a snowman, or a snowgirl?"</p><p>Sandy stuck a finger in his mouth, thinking hard. "Is Frosty a boy?" he asked at last. </p><p>"Uh," Tim was momentarily flabbergasted, but happily had a solution at hand. "Mia, do you know the song?"</p><p>"Yeah," she nodded and began to sing. "'… he was made of snow' – he! The song says he! So it's a boy!"</p><p>"Right," Tim said. "And now we also know he had two coal eyes – so Sandy, I want you to draw two dots about here in the top circle with your own pen."</p><p>"It's red," Sandy protested. "Coal is black!"</p><p>"Hmm, yes … Mia, there should be a ballpoint pen in the inner pocket of my jacket, could you please get it?"</p><p>"Sure!" Another quick dash to and from the hallway later, Mia handed Tim the pen. He clicked it on for Sandy. </p><p>"Now draw the eyes." Frosty got a definite squint, but neither child complained. "Okay, what else does he need?" </p><p>"A button nose, a corn cob pipe and a silk hat," Mia recited. "Oh, and a broom!" </p><p>"Of course." Tim showed Sandy where to draw another black dot under and between the eyes, then added a simple, stylized pipe and a top hat, letting the boy color in the cylinder. "You're doing great, Sandy," he praised. "Now, the broom." He sketched two stick limbs, one with a crook. "What kind of broom do you think Frosty wants – a push broom like your mommy uses to sweep, a straw broom, or one he can fly on, like Harry Potter?"</p><p>Both children giggled. "You're silly, Uncle Tim!"</p><p>"Maybe a little," Tim admitted. "Okay; so if Frosty doesn't play Quidditch, which of the other two does he get?" After some debate, the kids decided on a straw broom, and Tim dutifully sketched it in. On a whim, he also drew a six-pointed star between the candle and Frosty, taking inspiration from Ziva's Star of David pendant for symmetry, but obscuring the origin a little by filling it in and adding a round dot at each point. He knew the Caparellis wouldn't mind if he'd left it as-was, but somehow it seemed odd to put a Jewish symbol onto a missive celebrating a Christian tradition. "And that's it. What do you think, Sandy?" He held up the pad.</p><p>"Awesome," Sandy breathed. "Now it's fancy like Mia's!"</p><p>"Mine has more colors," Mia said. "Uncle Tim only had your red pen and his black one."</p><p>"Yes, but let's not forget your green glitter pen; having it really helped," Tim remarked. "Thank you again for letting Sandy and I use it."</p><p>"Yeah," Sandy said, still staring at his wish. Then he launched himself at Tim. "Thank you for helping me, Uncle Tim!" He gave Tim a stranglehold hug around his throat that more than rivaled one of Abby's in intent, if not yet in strength. "You're the best!"</p><p>Tim wheezed a little, but gladly returned the hug. "You're very welcome, Sandy." After a few moments, he carefully disentangled himself and lifted the boy off his lap. "Now – let's put it in an envelope and leave it on the mantel, together with Lia's."</p><p>That done, he was just about to suggest hot chocolate and cookies before bedtime, when he saw Sandy nudging his sister and whispering to her.</p><p>"Oh! Right!" Mia ran towards the pantry and soon came back with a familiarly-shaped bottle of soda that already had a red bow tied around the neck. She asked Tim to pick her up and carefully placed the bottle on top of the envelopes. He noted in passing that two other envelopes, marked 'Mark' and 'Nora', were tucked behind the spruce garland. "In case Santa gets thirsty," she explained. </p><p>"Uh huh," Tim murmured, slightly discombobulated first by the fact that Mark, his no-nonsense friend, apparently had indeed written a letter to Santa, and second by the rather unusual choice of beverage, popular commercials involving large red trucks notwithstanding. "Why the soda, not milk?"</p><p>"Daddy says Santa prolly gets milk everywhere, so he may like something different – and it won't go bad in case he can't come tonight."</p><p>Which actually made a certain amount of sense – for a given amount of 'sense' in this slightly bizarre situation he found himself in, Tim had to admit. "You know, your dad may have something there," he grinned, once more astounded by the creativity needed by modern parents. "Open Happiness, Santa!" he intoned cheekily, making the kids laugh. Then he clapped his hands. "Alright – cocoa, cookies and then bed for you two. It's already past eight – your parents will hurt me if I keep you up much longer!"</p>
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</div><p>He managed to get both children into bed with only minor grumbling by nine o'clock, and settled into the armchair before the fireplace with a second cup of hot chocolate, now lightly doctored with a small shot of brandy, with a sigh of relief. Looking after two young children sure was a lot harder than babysitting Sarah had ever been – even though he was much older and more mature now.

</p><p>"At least you haven't given me any grief," he told Jethro when the big dog sat before him, head on Tim's knees. Obligingly, Tim scratched his ears and down to the ruff of his neck. "In fact, you've been perfectly behaved. I think I absolutely made the right choice, letting Frank and Nora adopt you."</p><p>"Woof." Jethro pushed his wet nose against Tim's hand and followed up with a good, long lick.</p><p>"Glad you agree," Tim chuckled, gave Jethro another good rub between the ears, wiped his hands dry on his jeans and leaned back. The Caparellis were staying in DC overnight, not wanting to face a three-hour drive back home late at night with a prospect of snow, but he wasn't ready to head to the guest room quite yet. Nor was he in the mood to read. Instead, he let the soft flicker of flames from the fireplace lull him into a state of calm.</p>
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</div><p>As he relaxed, his thoughts inadvertently recapped the evening spent with Mia and Sandy. He certainly hadn't expected to do crafty stuff, but it had been a strangely rewarding experience, despite his limited skills. Similarly, he had been surprised and awed at the 'pipe dream wishes' the kids had left for Santa – well, most likely their parents, but that was a minor issue. Both kids' missives were intelligent and mature beyond their years; Tim seriously doubted he would have been as selfless while still so young.<b></b></p><p>
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</p><p>Also, he had been stunned by the question Mia had asked him when he'd tucked her in.</p><p>"Do you have a pipe dream wish, Uncle Tim?"</p><p>He'd paused. "You know, I never really thought about it, Mia," he'd finally admitted. </p><p>"Mommy says everyone has a pipe dream wish, and if they don't, they should."</p><p>"I suppose," Tim answered. "But I'd have to think about it."</p><p>"Uh huh." She gave him a sweet smile and burrowed more deeply under her duvet. "When you have one, you can write it down and put it with mine and Sandy's, so Santa will find it."</p><p>"I, uh, I'll have to think about that, too," he stammered, now thoroughly taken aback by the notion. Especially as he suddenly realized that he actually <i>didn't</i> have to think of one – he knew exactly what his hopeless, unattainable wish was. "You need to sleep now, though."</p><p>"Okay," she murmured sleepily. "Night, Uncle Tim."</p><p>"Good night, Mia," he replied. "Sleep tight." He switched off the overhead light and quietly left the room, taking care to leave the door ever so slightly open.</p>
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</div><p>Briefly, he wondered what his friends and colleagues might have written down for their pipe dream wishes. Gibbs was a no-brainer – his pipe dream would be to have Shannon and Kelly back. The same went for the Director and Jackie Vance. Ducky … apart from a steady supply of quality loose-leaf tea and someone to listen to his stories without cutting him off, he might dream of a cure for dementia, after having looked after his afflicted mother for years. Abby most likely would either wish for something abstract like instant universal peace, or something equally improbable like being allowed to redecorate Gibbs' house to what she thought the boss needed. Or having her very own Caf!Pow machine. Palmer? Another no-brainer – Breena was in the last trimester of her pregnancy, and naturally all their thoughts would be centered on the coming baby. Well, he also might wish to become Ducky's successor in due time.

</p><p>Tim smiled and drained his cocoa; he'd love to cross his legs, but Jethro was lying on his feet, whining softly as he slept. So Tim stayed as he was; he wasn't crazy enough to disturb a former drug-sniffing dog's doggy dreams with any abrupt movements. He let his mind wander back to what wishes he imagined his team might have written down.</p><p>He skipped over Cate and Ziva; it had been years, over ten and little more than one since their respective deaths, but the memories and grief were still raw, and it felt a bit disrespectful to their memories to speculate. And as for Ellie … he supposed she might wish that her marriage hadn't broken down, or that her boyfriend Quasim hadn't been killed. Somehow, he doubted that unlimited snack foods qualified as a pipe dream; Bishop was quite capable of keeping herself stacked up.<br/>
</p><p>And then there was Tony.<br/>
</p><p>Tim sighed. Not too long ago, he'd have said Tony's pipe dream wish would feature fast vintage cars, a score of beautiful women at his beck and call, or the opportunity to pull endless pranks on all and sundry, especially Tim.  However, he knew his partner much better now, and had realized that there was much more to the man than his habitual mask of being an 'X-rated Peter Pan', as Cate had liked to call him. Still, Tony was a very private person, easily equal to Gibbs.<br/>
</p><p>If Tim had to guess, he'd say Tony's wish would either be having his mother back, or having a better father than – well, at least a less-fraught relationship with – Senior. He shuddered slightly as he remembered how he'd been taken in by the man's superficial charm at first. Calling himself the 'real Tony DiNozzo' ‒ what a crock!<br/>
</p><p>Then again, maybe Tony simply dreamed of someone to love, as sappy as it might sound. Years ago, Tony had been ready to commit to Wendy Miller, after all, and Tim was very aware how much the whole La Grenouille/Jeanne Benoit fiasco had hurt the other agent.<br/>
</p><p>None of this felt exactly right, though. Tim felt as if he was missing something, some aspect of the man … and he just didn't know. Which kind of bugged him, if he was honest. Because despite their rocky start, and sometimes even rockier association over the years, Tony had gone from being his training officer to partner to buddy to best friend, and on the way become one of the most important people in Tim's life. More so than his sister, or Penny, or even, God help him, his own father, who wasn't any kind of grand prize in the dad lottery, either.<br/>
</p><p>So many thoughts, so many feelings, so many words. Too many. Because they could ultimately be summed up with just one that perfectly described Tim's pipe dream wish.<br/>
</p><p>Tony.</p>
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</div><p>It would only take a second or two to jot that down. Just four letters. Fifteen, tops, if he went for Tony's full name and initial. Quick and easy, right? He could do that.<br/>
</p><p>Or not.<br/>
</p><p>"I can't just write down Tony's name as my wish," Tim muttered to himself. "I mean, even if I wanted to. Which I don't."<br/>
</p><p><i>'Yeah, right,' </i>an annoying little voice scoffed at the back of his mind. It sounded like the man Tim was desperately trying <i>not </i>to think about, with very little luck. No matter that he was a published author and was quite experienced at writing sharp, concise case reports – '<i>thanks to Tony's training'</i>, that same little voice, now sounding more like Abby, told him – he simply couldn't come up with a way that satisfied him.<br/>
</p><p>He groaned. Thinking of Tony and satisfaction in the same sentence was very much a Bad Idea™, as he'd discovered months ago ... once he realized just how much his feelings toward one Very Special Agent Anthony D. DiNozzo Jr. had changed since Ziva left.<br/>
</p><p>Slowly, another thought formed. <i>What if I do write just that, though?</i>, followed immediately by <i>Or better yet, why don't I just show, don't tell?</i> After all, wasn't that the axiom any good writer should live by?</p><p><i>'Yes. Do it,'</i> his little voice murmured. And right on the heels of that came an idea of how to go about it.<br/>
</p><p>Almost against his will, Tim carefully withdrew his feet from under Jethro's warm weight, got up and fetched his laptop. He'd brought it along because he rarely went anywhere without it, and now it gave him the perfect means to execute this mad, half-baked plan. </p><p>Booting up the laptop, he opened a new document and typed his pipe dream wish in a big, red, bold font. It looked rather weird. Shaking his head, Tim pulled up a private folder, copied a file, deleted one of the six words he'd written and pasted the file into the document instead. </p><p><i>Better, </i>he decided. Before he could talk himself out of what was more than likely a bout of at least temporary insanity, Tim transferred the document to a flash drive, shut down his laptop and went over to the printer Mark had set up for Nora in a niche just off the kitchen – the household office, as the Caparellis liked to call it. A minute later, he held a color printout in his hands. Hardly daring to look at it, Tim took an envelope from the from the top drawer of Nora's desk, pretty sure it wouldn't be missed. Quickly, he folded the print to the right format, stuffed it in the envelope, sealed it and scrawled his name on the back. Then he slid the thing underneath the children's letters and all but fled to his room.</p>
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</div><p>Contrary to his expectations, Tim slept soundly and was able to greet the Caparellis with reasonable composure the next morning. He almost lost it, though, when Mia and Sandy cheerfully told their parents during a late brunch how Uncle Tim had helped Sandy write his letter to Santa and made it extra special by drawing decorations around it.<br/>
</p><p>"That was very nice of Uncle Tim," Nora said, smiling at Tim approvingly. "Did you say thank you?"<br/>
</p><p>"They sure did," Tim reported. "Mia was very helpful, too."<br/>
</p><p>Both kids beamed. "And now Santa has them; they're all gone," Mia exclaimed happily.<br/>
</p><p>Tim sent a furtive look at the fireplace mantel; indeed, all five envelopes had disappeared. So had the soda bottle. Assuming Mark and Nora had removed the envelopes to preserve the whole Santa myth for Mia and Sandy, he grinned.<br/>
</p><p>"Looks like Santa came to pick them up while we were all asleep," he said, taking another bite of the excellent breakfast casserole Nora had served. As he was concentrating on his food, he missed the glance his friends shared, Nora's slight headshake and Mark's almost-imperceptible answering nod.<br/>
</p><p>"Well, I certainly didn't see any letters when we came back from Washington," Mark commented with an enigmatic smile as he saluted Tim with his coffee cup. "Thanks for doing that, man."<br/>
</p><p>"Not a problem," Tim replied. "Happy to help; I had fun." He was astonished to realize he actually meant it, too.<br/>
</p><p>When Tim took his leave of the Caparellis soon after, Mia tugged meaningfully at his hand, and he bent down to her. "Yes?"<br/>
</p><p>"Did you write down your own pipe dream wish, Uncle Tim?" she asked in a whisper.<br/>
</p><p>He couldn't help the slight rise of heat to his cheeks, but answered honestly, and just as quietly. "Actually, I did."<br/>
</p><p>She hugged him as hard as she could. "I'm glad," she murmured. "I hope it comes true."<br/>
</p><p>"Maybe it will." <i>Just not in this lifetime</i>, he thought, but didn't say aloud. "You know it's up to Santa now." Whom he hadn't believed in for ages. Still, he couldn't quite suppress a wistful smile as he drove off, back home to Washington.</p>
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</div><p><i>Several hours earlier</i>

</p><p>It was the dark of night when Jethro was awakened from his sleep by a soft glow next to the Caparellis' fireplace. He growled lowly, but knew that there was no danger. After all, this wasn't the first time he'd seen it happen, and Jethro knew that the visitor was no threat to his Mia and his Sandy, or former-his Tim.<br/>
</p><p>Still, he sat up, watching attentively as the red-suited figure held a finger to his lips, requesting silence. Jethro flicked his ears and snuffled; of <i>course </i>he wouldn't make a sound! After all, he wasn't stupid, like the annoying yippy Chihuahua four houses down.<br/>
</p><p>The visitor smiled benignly and briefly ruffled Jethro's fur. "Good boy," he murmured before turning towards the mantel. With an appreciative smile, he took the soda bottle and tucked it into one of his coat pockets. "Something to look forward to once my night's work is done. Speaking of which …" With keen eyes, he made out the stack of three envelopes, picked them up along with the two behind the garland and opened the first.<br/>
</p><p>"Ah, Leonora – yes, I think I can do that for your friend. And Marco – you'll be pleased to learn that in a few months, what you wish for your brother Franco will come true." He then opened Mia's letter and nodded approvingly. "How like you, little Maria. Don't worry, you'll have your wish. And Alessandro … why, what a lovely letter!" Twinkling eyes scanned the message. "And such a thoughtful wish, too! I think … yes, I think I can do that. Just be patient, little man."<br/>
</p><p>Lastly, he opened the final letter. "Timothy Farragut McGee? You haven't written to me for years – what is so important that you would do this now, after all this time?"<br/>
</p><p>He unfolded the single sheet. What he saw startled even him.<br/>
</p><p>"Oh. Oh my."<br/>
</p><p>After a few moments, though, he began to chuckle. "Well, Timothy, you always liked to present me with a challenge, and I can see that hasn't changed. And it's hardly typical for this kind of wish." He stroked his full white beard, then pulled out a small booklet bound in green leather. Flipping through the pages, he finally stopped once he was about two-thirds through. Adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses, the visitor frowned, hemmed and hawed a little, then turned another page and read on. A slow smile spread across his ruddy cheeks.<br/>
</p><p>"You've done a lot of good in your life, Timothy. A few hiccups here and there, but I suppose it all evens out in the end. So ... it won't be easy and may take some time and effort, but … very well. Wish granted."<br/>
</p><p>He stepped into the fireplace and with a snap of his fingers was gone.</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>ETA:</b> Please check out <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28018611">Chapter 11</a> of geminiangel's work on the challenge; she has written a totally lovely take on Tony's Pipe Dream Wish, and how this story might go on. It's really very close to what I might have written myself, so kudos and a sackful of thanks to her!</p><div class="center">
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</div>Set in season 14; there is no Tiva, and no Delilah. Other than that, I'm a bit of a canon whore, so all references to canon persons and/or events are as accurate as I could make them.<p>Also, there really was a Donny and Marie Osmond Christmas Concert at the National Theatre in Washington, DC on December 6, 2014; info thanks to the Washington Post Entertainment section archive!</p><p>Template for the artwork is from https://funny.phot.o</p><p>Thank you for reading!</p><p><b>Disclaimer:</b> NCIS characters belong to CBS, Belisarius Productions, and various other creators. I'm just borrowing them for fun and will put them back into their proper sandbox <s>relatively</s> unharmed once I'm done playing with them. No copyright infringement is intended.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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